


You Can Wash My Hair

by scribbledog



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Bath Sex, M/M, Oblivious Harry Potter, Pining Harry Potter, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Quidditch, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 01:33:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribbledog/pseuds/scribbledog
Summary: Harry has been driven mad by the sight of Draco Malfoy in full Quidditch leathers and today might just be the day he does something about it.





	You Can Wash My Hair

“Hey mate! Remember, game at Malfoy’s after work tonight.” Ron said, slapping Harry on the back on his way past.

“Gotcha.” Harry called at Ron’s retreating back, watching as the man disappeared into the maze of auror’s desks. He turned back and picked up his latest case file, trying to lose himself in the paperwork once more, but it was no use. He sat back in his chair pushing his glasses up to rub at his aching eyes, trying to keep himself from groaning in frustration. Not only was Harry victim of the usual end of the week fatigue that everyone fell to, but now he was also assaulted by the prospect of Malfoy.

This wasn’t the same Malfoy who had tormented him throughout his years at Hogwarts though. No, this was lean, muscled, confident Auror Malfoy, who had rose through the ranks, alongside Harry and Ron and a dozen other recruits, to become a formidable duelist, a dastardly flyer and the host of the offices fortnightly friendly Quidditch matches. Matches which were not so friendly that the aurors involved didn’t find someway to combine their skills in both duelling and flying.

And this was the Malfoy that was ruining Harry’s life.

Every other Friday night, tonight included, Harry would have to dutifully trudge up the gravel path to Malfoy Manor broomstick slung over his shoulder and dread pooling in his stomach, like he was doing now, pretending to listen as his coworkers compared notes on who had the weirdest case. Muller had won hands down today for a little old lady who had charmed a pair of fire tongs to attack any ‘night prowlers’, but which had attached themselves to the testes of her muggle postman instead. Everyone else roared with laughter at Muller’s impression of the affronted lady upon having her tongs confiscated, but Harry could only muster a weak smile, as at that moment they had rounded the house and the Quidditch pitch and source of his pain had come into view.

Maybe Harry could pretend to have a headache and back out, it wasn’t too late. Before he could open his mouth though, a familiar drawl sounded from below the hoops “Nice to see you’ve finally made it,” and there Malfoy was, leaning against the pillar, golden sunlight caught in his pale swept back hair, toned arms folded and eyes locked on Harry. The headache excuse died in Harry’s throat as he took him in. His gaze travelled up over Malfoys long elegant leather-clad legs and skipped right across the bulge of his crotch, Harry’s face heated and he fought the urge to gulp, up to where Malfoy’s muscles pushed against the black Quidditch robes across his chest, robes that Harry swore got a little tighter each week.

And that was it. That damn uniform killed Harry everytime he saw it. He still remembered the first time he saw Malfoy in it a few months ago. Until that point, their relationship had always been that of cordial, but distant, coworkers, nods in the hall and small talk about the weather. Then, one Friday the whole office had trooped to the Manor for their usual game and there Malfoy was, at the top of the steps leading into the building, wearing that. Harry had never paid attention to Malfoy when he was in the stiff formality of auror’s robes. But with this sinful combination of ebony dragon leather across his shoulders and down his arms and cotton jersey pulled across his pecs, Harry could see how the other man had filled out since his Hogwarts days. It had clung to the curves of Malfoy’s body and displayed the man’s raw power as he moved. A power that Harry had responded to in a visceral, animal way that, at the time, he told himself was just appreciation for the man’s skilled flying. But that night, when Malfoy appeared in his dreams, smirking and offering to do filthy things, Harry had woken up sticky and desperate and with the knowledge that he was completely and utterly fucked.

And in the here and now, he could feel a high keening note build in his throat as he locked eyes with Malfoy, who quirked one pale eyebrow, a look flitting across his face that Harry just couldn’t quite place.

“Piss off Malfoy!” Ron said as he made for a crate of cool beers hovering nearby, breaking the spell between the two men as he shoved a bottle into Harry’s hand, “We all saw you doss off around midday!”

Malfoy pushed himself off of the pillar and swiped the next bottle Ron popped open for himself, “That’s because I keep on top of my paperwork and can afford a half day.” He retorted walking past Ron who was sputtering at the theft of his drink. Malfoy waved his wand and the rest of the beers flew to each auror, “Drink up and let’s get to flying.” He called as he strode to the edge of the pitch. The aurors followed suit, swigging heartily from their drinks.

On the end line, Malfoy paused next to Harry and pressed the bottle against his mouth, tipping it back. Harry tried not to look, he swear he did. But he was caught by the condensation that rolled down the glass to pool against the plumpness of Malfoy’s lips, as his eyes fluttered closed in delight. The water drops glistened there against the pink flesh a moment, before starting a slow roll down his sharp jaw, to leave a sparkling trail against the long pale column of his throat, before finally, finally coming to rest at the dip of his clavicle. Harry had forgotten how to breathe, the tip of his tongue itching to follow the moisture left against Malfoy’s skin, to taste the saltiness there as his nose filled with a scent that was spice and pomegranate and pure Malfoy. Instead he could only watch helpless, when Malfoy’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed mouthful after mouthful of the amber liquid. Once half the bottle was gone, he pulled it away from his mouth with a faint pop and a satisfied sigh. “I needed that” he all but purred to himself.

Harry’s knuckles turned white where he gripped his own beer as he chugged it back in a desperate attempt to cool off. He was already sweating and they hadn’t even kicked up into the air yet. The late summer breeze did nothing to help and his white Quidditch jersey was beginning to feel a shade too tight. Around him, his coworkers threw their empty bottles onto the grass and kicked up into the air, looping around in a warm up exercise. Soon enough it was just him and Malfoy left on the ground.

“Ready to take a beating?” Malfoy taunted as he swung a leg over his broom. At Harry’s choked silence, Malfoy continued, eyebrow raised in defiance, “What? Scared, Potter?”

And for a second, for the space of a devilish heartbeat, Harry was tempted to answer ‘Yes’, that he was terrified. Terrified of Malfoy and the power he had over Harry. Terrified of what would happen next, once they took to the sky. And most of all, he was terrified that he wouldn’t be able to control himself much longer around this man. Instead, he replied “You wish,” his voice full of gravel and mounted his broom as fast as he could, desperate to get this match over with.

Malfoy’s laugh followed him up into the air and a moment later the snitch was released. Harry flew a quick lap of the pitch, letting the rush of wind clear his head. The quaffle was thrown into play and for a long while Harry managed to lose himself in the game, in the scanning of the field and tracking his team as they fought against both bludgers and hexes. The aurors played fast and they played dirty. More than once Harry felt the brush of magic as it whooshed past him. He kept Malfoy in his peripherals, trying to pretend that the man was just another rival seeker, hot on his trail in their search for the snitch, sometimes nothing more than a blur of black and platinum as he darted across the pitch, sometimes flashing red and green as spells were volleyed towards him.

Then Harry heard a yelp and he turned face to face Malfoy fully as something wonderful and disastrous happened. Malfoy had been caught by an Incendiary Hex and the cloth around his stomach was burning up. Gripping his broom tight between his knees, Malfoy reached up and pulled the jersey off in one fluid movement. He let the smoldering rag drop down to the pitch, ruined beyond repair, and there Malfoy was shirtless and golden in the dying light of the day, sweaty hair falling into his eyes and scars crisscrossing the ivory expanse of his chest, flickering against the flexing muscles, his faded dark mark the only catch of colour against the alabaster of his flesh. And Harry realised, with a jolt from somewhere around his navel, that Malfoy with all his imperfections on display, was all the more magnetic than the pristine figure he cut in his uniform.

Harry shifted, growing more uncomfortable against the hard length of his broomstick and he knew he had to stop looking, otherwise he was going to do something reckless. Like ravage the man in front of him, like a beast possessed, mid-air, with all his co-workers as witnesses. He dragged his eyes away and as he did so, he caught a glimpse of gold and wings. He took off after it, grateful for the distraction. The snitch began a corkscrew up, Harry hot on its tail, hand reaching, teeth clenched, hoping to put an end to the game and his torment. His hand closed around the sphere, and a second later, long fingers closed over his hand. Harry turned his head towards Malfoy, shocked as a naked shoulder bumped his covered one and Malfoy’s breath ghosted against his cheek while they still flew in a tight spiral into the dusk.

“Good catch, Potter.” Malfoy murmured, thumb brushing across Harry’s knuckles as he took his hand away, and peeled off back towards the ground. It was too skillful a bit of flying to have been by accident, yet Harry had no time to dwell on it as the rest of his teammates crashed into him, yelling their congratulations and slapping him on the back.

The group landed as one, chatting about heading to the pub, Harry trapped in the middle of them, thoughts whirring as he nodded along without listening. The plan was made to have a change of clothes and meet at the Leaky and slowly the aurors started to make their way back towards the gate. Harry stood still on the edge of the pitch, surrounded by empty beer bottles and fragments of black leather, watching as Malfoy shook hands and was thumped on the arm by his teammates.

“Harry, mate! You coming?” Ron called from the path to the apparition point.

Harry jolted back into himself and answered guiltily, “You go on ahead, I’m gonna give Malfoy a hand with clearing up!” Harry snatched up the nearest empty bottles and shook them wildly in the direction of his best friend, face burning.

“Sure, whatever you say.” Ron said, with something akin to knowing pity in his voice, before he headed away.

Harry turned towards Malfoy, ready to roll his eyes at Ron’s behaviour, but Malfoy had already left the pitch and was making his way up the steps towards the house. “You don’t need to bother helping, the house elves will be out soon enough and I’m going to have a bath.” He drawled without looking back.

Harry was distracted by the two small dimples at the small of Malfoy’s back, just peeking over the hemline of his trousers and before his brain could really engage, he asked, “Oh, uh, do you need a hand with that?” Malfoy stopped a foot still in midair, and Harry realised what he’d just said. As Malfoy stood there motionless, Harry felt his soul begin to leave his body. Before he could even muster an excuse, an apology, a plea of temporary insanity, Malfoy gave a rumbling chuckle and carried on walking, leaving Harry to stand there in mortification. Then Malfoy paused on the threshold of the Manor, the dark interior wrapping around his half naked frame, he turned and the shadows accentuated the light muscles in his stomach as he canted one hip against the door jam and assessed the man in his garden with a bright red face and dishevelled hair.

“You can help me wash my hair.” He said at last. The bottles slipped out of Harry’s limp fingers to fall with a soft thud in the grass, as he choked on nothing. Malfoy laughed once more and slipped inside, “There’s a bottle of Bordeaux in the parlor, bring me a glass.” Malfoy said from the darkness.

For a moment there was no noise but the receding footsteps upon marble flooring and Harry’s ragged breathing. Then something deep within Harry snapped and, with a whimper of want, he scrambled up the steps and into the building.

He found a crystal decanter upon a mahogany sideboard just where Malfoy had promised it’d be. He poured the wine out with trembling hand into two glasses and set it back down with a thud. “What the fuck are you doing?” He asked himself, gripping his his hair and pacing a few steps, “This has to be a fucking joke.” He turned back to the glasses and downed one. He poured another measure, and gathered his Gryffindor resolve, “Fuck it!” He levitated the glasses and marched up the stairs towards the sound of splashing water.

Down the end of the long hallway light spilled out from under the door, and his breath quickened with each step towards it. Harry was practically hyperventilating by the time he had reached his destination. To buy himself time, he kicked off his shoes and peeled off his socks. Once that was done, he still hesitated though, trying to get his breathing under control. It was only when he heard a satisfied groan from the other side of the wood that Harry came back to his senses. He plucked the glasses out of the air and pushed open the door.

The cavernous bathroom was filled with steam, muted light and tropical plants, the dark green of their leaves standing in stark contrast to the white tiles of the walls. At the end of the chamber was a huge clawfoot tub and in it sat Malfoy, wet hair plastered back against his head, rubbing soap up his arms and pressing deft fingers into aching muscles. Harry stepped just inside and paused. Malfoy looked like heaven and sin wrapped together as he held out an arm towards Harry, inviting him further in, as suds dripping off his elbow to soak into the thick red carpet below. His cheeks were tinged pink from the heat and his lips were quirked in a smile full of promise. Droplets curled down his chest lazily, his nipples dipping in and out of the bath with every breath, bubbles drawn to the dusky pink whorls, like the tide is drawn to the shore. The rest of him was obscured by bone white porcelain. “I was wondering where you’d gone,” he said in a voice rich as chocolate, “Come here.”

Harry stepped up to the bathtub and stood there, unsure, the two wine glasses held in front of him like a shield. He had to keep his eyes on Malfoy’s face, careful to not let his gaze slip lower than the collarbone, for that way madness lay. Malfoy sat forward, the water sloshing around him as he did so, and liberated one of the glasses from Harry’s grip. He took a sip and watched Harry from over the rim. Harry tried not to squirm under the scrutiny, aware as he was that he was in unchartered territory. He drank some of his own wine to try and cover his nervousness. When he finished, Malfoy took his wineglass and set both of them down on thin air to the side of the tub.

“Kneel down,” Malfoy said, nodding his head slightly towards the carpet. Harry wetted his lower lip, before lowering himself to the ground, not quite believing he was really here. Malfoy lifted his fingers from where they gripped the bath rim and pressed a bar of soap into the palm of Harry's hand. Harry looked between it and Malfoy in confusion. Malfoy quirked his lips, clearly amused even as his eyes darkened, “Aren’t you here to wash my hair?”

Harry’s lips parted slightly as he realised Malfoy was serious. He hesitated, looking for some sign that this was all a joke, but Malfoy met his questioning stare head on. Cautiously Harry, rolled up his sleeves, before dipping his hands into the warm water. He began to lather up the soap, feeling like he was floating through a surreal dream. He placed the bar on the corner of the bath and knelt up, “Close your eyes.” He said, voice coming out huskier than he’d ever heard it before. Malfoy shot him a heated look before doing as he was told and Harry slowly pushed his fingers into the platinum locks, revelling in the softness of the strands as they brushed against his skin. Harry reached up to cradle his left hand behind Malfoy’s neck, steadying his head, as his right hand stroked through his hair again, pushing in the soap. Malfoy breathed deep and even and Harry watched entranced as his chest rose and fell, the scars pulling tight on each inhale. With one of the passes of Harry’s hand, he accidentally scraped his blunt nails against Malfoy’s scalp, eliciting a startled gasp from the man as his hand shot out of the water to grip Harry’s arm.

“Sorry,” Harry said, fearing he’d broken the spell when Malfoy’s eyes opened.

“Do that again.” Malfoy breathed, his eyes pools of black rimmed with the barest glint of silver.

Harry obediently crooked his fingers and scratched back through Malfoy’s hair once more. Malfoy’s eyes fluttered shut again and he moaned at the contact, the sound shooting straight to Harry’s groin. Harry repeated the movement, each time he did Malfoy groaned in bliss, lower lip caught between white teeth. His eyelids fluttered shut once more, droplets quivering against his lashes with the movement, as his head grew heavier in Harry’s hand. But Malfoy still didn’t let go of Harry’s forearm, his fingers softening their grip until the pale digits were just stroking lightly over Harry’s tanned skin, drawing meaningless patterns with the wetness of his fingertips, while Harry hardly dared to breathe.

After a long moments, Harry let out a shaky breath and stopped his ministrations, earning himself a frustrated keen from the other man.

“Time to rinse.” Harry said by way of apology.

Malfoy nodded, and with Harry’s left hand still steadying him, slipped down into the water. The cuff of Harry’s shirt dropped into the bath with him, water seeping up his elbow, but Harry ignored it as he watched the hair fan out around Malfoy’s head in a pale halo, tendrils of soap drifting through the warm water. When Harry drew him back up out of the water, he pulled the other man further up still, until his lips pressed against Harry’s.

Like many of the events that confused afternoon, Harry hadn’t expected to do that. He had acted once more on rash impulse and now he was frozen in the moment, their lips pressed together unmoving, as Harry’s mind raced to catch up with his traitorous body. Harry panicked, when he realised that Malfoy hadn’t moved or responded and he realised, stomach plummeting, that he’d overstepped a boundary. Harry tore away, hand ripping out from behind Malfoy’s neck so fast that the man dropped a few inches back into the tub, water threatening the skip over the sides.

Before he could push himself off of the floor, a wet hand reached out to tangle in Harry’s jersey, holding him in place. “And just where do you think you’re going?” Malfoy asked, eyebrow raised.

“I’m sorry, I don’t- That was- I won’t-” Harry babbled, “I overstepped, I should go.” He finished lamely.

Malfoy just laughed, “Potter, are you really so dense that you think I invited you up here just to wash my hair? I mean seriously? I know I’m spoiled, but Salazar! I’m not so spoiled that I need others to bathe me.”

“W-what?” Harry felt like the rug had been swept out from underneath him.

“I was only pulling your leg when I handed you the soap. I just expecting you strip off and join me in here.” Malfoy continued, scrubbing his free hand over his face, “Although Merlin, I never expected the hair washing to be quite so incredibly hot.” He finished on a sigh.

Harry let Malfoy’s words sink in for a moment, before he reached once more into the water, to wrap his arms underneath the other man's shoulders and haul him into another searing kiss. Malfoy responded beautifully, gasping and opening his mouth for more. Harry’s tongue licked at Malfoy’s bottom lip, touched his teeth gently, before slipping fully inside to taste the man before him. There was the taste of deep red wine, and berries and as Malfoys’ tongue touched his, Harry forgot all about taste as he plunged further into the tub, fingers digging roughly into Malfoy’s flesh, trying to draw him closer and cursing the porcelain barrier between them.

Malfoy tore his lips away from Harry’s, as he hauled himself up to the side of the tub, water overspilling and soaking into the fabric of Harry’s top, turning it translucent as it clung to the muscles of his stomach. But Malfoy was busy attacking Harry’s neck, lips and teeth dragging up its length, paying no notice of the mess he was making until Harry growled, “Oh sod it!” He stood up and climbed into the bath fully clothed, not caring one damn bit as Malfoy crawled into his lap and pushed him back against the tub, to continue his assault on the pulse point in Harry’s neck. The fabric stuck to their skin as they rocked against each other. “Sweet Merlin, Draco!” Harry couldn’t help but cry, as Malfoy sucked at the sensitive flesh behind his jaw.

Malfoy pulled away suddenly, leaving Harry cold as he sat back in his lap, pupils blown wide, lips bruised red, looking completely debauched. “Draco?” He panted, grinding down on Harry’s clothed erection.

Harry nodded, leaning forward to lick a hot stripe against one of Draco’s nipples, lapping up the water droplets there, “Draco,” He moaned against the flesh, before drawing the nipple into his mouth and sucking. Draco’s fingers plunged into his hair, holding him in place, as he began chanting Harry’s name. It echoed across the tiles, returning to them tenfold. It beat a tattoo across Harry’s mind, and he shouldn’t have found it as unbelievably sexy as he did, hearing Draco’s clipped accent repeating his name whilst his fingers dragged below the surface of the water, skittering against the pale skin of Draco’s hipbone, following it down until he brushed against curling hair and hot hardness.

Harry released Draco’s nipple and leant back against the porcelain again, so that he could watch as his fingers wrapped around Draco’s smooth length. Like all of Draco, his dick was long and elegant, flushed pink and curving slightly to one side. Draco stared down at him with hooded eyes as Harry dragged his fist up his erection, gently taking the foreskin and dragging it down over the head, so that his thumb could circle the tip where it just poked out of the water. Draco tipped his head back and groaned at the swipe of Harry’s thumb. Wandlessly, Harry conjured lube into his hand and he began working the length of Draco, fist pumping and twisting at a teasingly slow pace. “Fuck Draco! You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this.” Harry said, waiting until Draco locked eyes with him before continuing, “That fucking uniform has been driving me crazy, seeing you strutting up and down the pitch in it, like you had no idea how good your arse looked in leather.” He continued, speeding up the pace with which he wanked Draco.

Draco huffed a quick laugh, “H-Harry… I-” he ground out, “I knew, w-why do you think I w-wore it?”

Harry’s hand stilled at that, “What?”

Draco smirked, the devil in his eyes, “I knew.” He repeated breathless, “I’d been waiting forever for you to make a move. In the end I had to destroy the blasted thing to get you to finally do something. Do you know how much that cost me?” His voice took on the hint of exasperation.

“You set yourself on fire? For me?” Harry asked, incredulous. When Draco nodded, all Harry could do was pull the man back down towards him, growling against his mouth “I’m gonna fuck you raw.” Before he smashed their lips together once more.

“Finally.” Draco groaned into his panting mouth, his long fingers scrabbling at the soaked waistband of Harry’s trouser, undoing the fastenings and drawing Harry’s thick erection out.

Harry gripped Draco’s back as he took a few experimental strokes, “Don’t, if you want me to last.” He warned, too amped up for foreplay. Draco laughed, whispered a few preparation charms and led Harry’s fingers to the cleft of his arse. Harry dipped his fingers down and brushed light against the ring of muscle, circling it, watching as Draco writhed above him, red lip caught between white teeth. Harry pushed the tip of his forefinger in, feeling the resistance give way, slowly he inched in up to the knuckle, before pulling out again. He added another finger, feeling the exquisite tightness of Draco, as he worked his way in, scissoring his fingers slightly and twisting his wrist. Draco was whimpering and panting against the intrusion, hands digging into the jersey at Harry’s shoulders, as water cascaded off of his flesh. Then Harry’s fingers brushed that bundle of nerves deep within him and he yelled in ecstacy, back arching beautifully. Harry smiled and touched the spot again and again, until Draco was a quivering wreck above him.

“Harry, please, fuck me! I’m ready, I’m ready.” Draco moaned, burying his face into Harry’s neck when the pleasure had got too much. Harry bit into his shoulder, as he withdrew his fingers and positioned himself at Draco’s entrance. “Please,” Draco moaned once more, before Harry pushed his way in, enveloping his prick fully in the heat that was Draco. He waited there a moment, until Draco nodded, and he pulled out again, angling his hips so that he could press deeper on the next stroke up.

Draco had other ideas though as he pressed a hand against Harry’s taut abdomen, stilling him. Harry met Draco’s eyes, as the man above him began to ride his dick in a punishing rhythm, causing Harry to cry out. He gripped Draco’s thighs for dear life, as the man grunted, rising and falling before him. “Draco! Merlin, you feel so good!” Harry babbled, as he started to pump in tandem to the other man’s movements, hitting his prostate on each thrust up.

Draco’s forehead came to rest against Harry’s, noses bumping together as they rocked, grunting into each others mouths with each stroke. Harry snaked a hand between them to once more grip Draco’s dick. He pumped it in time to his trusts, a brutal pace that had Draco chanting his name. “I’m not going to last much longer, Harry.” Draco warned.

“Then come, come for me, Draco.” Harry begged against his lips, “I want to feel you coming while I’m inside you.” He wrapped his arm around Draco’s waist, pinning him against his body as he thrust harder up into the man, hand still working furiously on his erection. Draco slapped one hand against the cool tiles, scrabbling for purchase, and then he was coming in thick ropes against Harry’s chest and stomach, throwing his head back and crying out to the heavens. Harry felt Draco’s arse clench impossibly tighter and that was it for Harry, he saw white as he rocked, heels digging against the hard bathtub, scrambling for purchase. He dug his fingers into the firm flesh of Draco’s thigh and pumped himself as deep as he could go, limbs trembling as he filled Draco with his release and he growled, guttural and possessive. They trembled there for a long moment, panting against each others lips, before Harry gave a few weak thrusts, making Draco mewl with overstimulation. He slipped out himself out completely, hissing at the loss of contact. Draco lay sated and heavy across his chest, panting with exertion.

Slowly Harry came back to sticky life, feeling the chafe of his sodden clothes against his hypersensitive flesh. Draco was still floating in a blissed out state, and Harry felt bad when he nudged him up so Harry could get out of the bath and finally strip. Instead of drying himself off though, Harry climbed straight back into the water, flipping on the hot tap to refresh it as he did so.

He pulled Draco back against his chest, cradling the man between his knees as he lazily washed the remnants of their release off of the pink flesh. Draco accioed their wine glasses and passed one to Harry. “At least I’m not the only one who ruined their Quidditch kit today.” He murmured. Harry chuckled, glancing at the sopping wet heap seeping into the rug. Draco took a long sip of his wine, “Although my carpet is ruined now.” He observed.

Harry pressed a kiss against his temple, “I’ll find some way to make it up to you.” He promised.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my lovelies, thanks for reading my first ever published fic. Yes, it's just smut for smut's sake, but I always say 'go hard or go home' and, oh boy, did we go hard!
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed it and feedback is always welcome.


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